


Dreaming Awake

by Galadriel



Category: Australian Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Flowers, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric, owner and proprietor of <i>Bana's Buds and Blooms</i>, an independent flower shop, has been having the strangest dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afra_schatz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afra_schatz/gifts).



> For Afra, who asked for, among other things, "getting together fics, Greek mythology, teaching AUs," and "contemporary AUs," and provided the prompt, "'It would seem that you have no useful skill or talent whatsoever,' he said. 'Have you thought of going into teaching?'" -Terry Prachett
> 
> I hope I've managed to give you at least a little of what you wanted. Happy Halloween!

_Eric looked up, dismayed to see the clouds gathering over his head, some sort of ridiculously obvious metaphor for the state of his love life, he was sure. Passing through the meadow, each step seemed to cover a league. Hills and valleys gave way under a handful of steps, green earth churning to brown under his heels. And yet he never quite shook the clouds, always above him, hanging in the air as if on a hot, still day, not the slightest hint of a breeze to ruffle their edges._

_Somehow, he knew if he dispel them he could travel all the faster, push away from the earth and step into the sky. Up, up, up he'd walk, past the blue and into the inky black, his path studded with stars, his legs long since broken free from gravity._

_And yet... And yet, here he was, pinned to the ground by the darkening gloom. He dug the toe of his boot into the grass, shoving himself forward the best he was able. There was a break up ahead, a flash of blue amongst the grey, and at the bottom of this rend, where earth and sky met, was a milky white... something. Something alive, if Eric's eyes could be believed._

_He redoubled his efforts, his feet pounding against grass, breaking the green shoots that had been so eager to bend only moments ago. Closer now, and closer. He could make out its outline. Some sort of animal? A horse... no, a cow. An impossibly white cow standing under a sky free of clouds, the blue almost blinding, as if sunshine had only now begun to stream down from the sky._

_Eric glanced up, and was surprised to see the grey clouds finally burning off, streaming away from him as he came nearer and nearer to the cow, the glade, and the blue, blue sky. All but one persistent white cloud, now descending, drifting closer and closer until he could feel wisps of it like cool breath against his skin, gentle, caressing, enveloping him even as it slowly obscured his vision, until the world was white, white, whi--_

Eric woke up with a jolt. Cows and clouds and skies, now? At this rate, he was never going to get another full night's sleep again. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, rolling over to blink blearily at the clock.

12:08am. 

These dreams had to stop.

***

The clatter of plastic against stone was far louder than it had a right to be. Eric frowned down at his phone, torn between chastising himself for taking his frustrations out on it and considering tossing it at the nearest wall. He could still see the last round of texts, the words already burned in his memory even as the screen faded to black.

_but srsly those dance mvs  
ur kind of shite._

_fu_

_no rly  
mebbe u shuld teach_

_whut?_

_u kno  
ppl who cant do teach_

Brad had claimed that he was just teasing, after all, another playful nudge in a series of playful nudges that were starting to string together into one long, spiralling chain, each one a glittering, shimmering, ice cold, hard stone knocking against its fellows, each one a lump that was getting harder and harder for Eric to choke down.

Reflexively, Eric rubbed at his throat, as if willing an invisible pill to slide more smoothly into the pit of his stomach. He was nearly certain he had had enough. As flirty and funny as Brad was, after each and every encounter, Eric found himself feeling worn down, the niggling suspicion in the back of his mind that he was the severe schoolmarm to Brad's mischievous schoolboy, increasingly cast in the role of disapproving wet-blanket to better highlight Brad's charming, fly-by-night nature.

It was enough.

Enough to make Eric long for more, for someone who didn't mind leading the class once in a while, who'd let Eric go out for recess and run with the other boys, hanging by his ankles from the bars of the jungle gym before returning to buttoned-up buttoned-downs, to adult lives and adult responsibilities.

He wanted a turn at the merry-go-round, dammit, and if it wasn't clear by now, Brad wasn't willing to share.

But if wishes were horses, Eric reflected, he would have long since assembled a stable-full.

Eric sighed and picked up his shears. There was no point in wallowing, not when he had work to do. He needed to prepare the irises that had been delivered fresh this morning, and switch out the lilies that were beginning to droop. If there were still some roses in the back, perhaps he could put together some half-price bouquets for passers-by. Better that than toss the lot in the dumpster. Better that than miss an opportunity for a little more cash flowing into his business rather than out.

The snip-snip of the shears was soothing, the brush of petals and thorns alike making Eric's skin tingle as he traipsed back and forth to the refrigeration units. There was something comforting about being surrounded by flowers all day, the green scent of newly-cut stems mingling with the perfume of blooms and the earthiness of their potted brethren. He could easily get lost in the business of gardening, caretaker to a plethora of flora, one imaginative step away from a _Through the Looking Glass_ -style garden, the potty potterer long since set adrift amongst his potted plants. Thank all the little fishes for the slow trickle of customers, keeping Eric moored to the world beyond his shop door.

A few delicate violets here, a towering spike of larkspur there. On the surface, it was all petals and perfume, but the work of it, the dirt and sweat and knowledge required belied running a florists was anything less than masculine. He'd had his share of interested observers remark on how very _fitting_ it was that he owned his own flower shop, as if it, hairdressing and fashion were the only approved careers for any man with a fondness for dick, but one hour helping Eric unload the new stock as it came in, inspecting and organizing, merchandising, cutting, clearing, cleaning, lifting, moving, shifting _and_ arranging, and even the roughest of men were crying uncle while Eric carried on carrying on. Even Brad had had to admit that it wasn't as easy at it looked, although Eric grudgingly acknowledged Brad's adeptness at charming the customers.

Eric glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. Pretty Ms. Kruger would be by soon to pick up her order, the same clutch of poppies she requested every second Monday since shortly after _Bana's Buds & Blooms_ had opened. If he was lucky... if he was very, very lucky, she would walk in ever so slightly late, just late enough that she wouldn't be here to require his attention when that man with the long hair and _excellent_ arse strolled past Eric's plate glass windows ever so promptly at 12:08.

Just like every day. For the past two weeks. A ray of sunshine in Eric's otherwise cloudy days.

 _...Arse-shine. Arseshine?_ Eric shrugged as he reached for the polka-dotted floral wrap. Whatever. That arse was magic... even if it was a little flat.

 _12:06._ Eric smiled, the appointed moment nearly upon him. He had no idea what the man's name was, or what he was doing at 12:08 every day, but Eric was getting used to seeing him pass, a pleasantly punctual person presumably seeking the same thing as every noontime wanderer.

Too bad Eric didn't run a sandwich shop.

***

_He could smell ozone, fresh and sharp, the edge of a chill in the air, enough to make him shiver and pull his jacket close. It wouldn't be long before the sky opened above him, pouring out a deluge the likes of which Eric had never before seen. He wondered if it would be enough to make him Noah, or... or perhaps Deucalion, nothing but a chest sparing him from the swell of floodwaters. If only he had a chest._

_Or a rowboat. A rowboat would do._

_As the first few drops of water began to fall, Eric ducked his head, looking for shelter. The beach stretched endlessly away in both directions, only sea and cliff to contain its spread. As he looked up at them, the cliffs seemed to stretch further upward, impossibly tall, reaching up and up to scrape at the sky. Their faces were forbidding, few nooks or crannies to offer the slightest bit of protection, but..._

_Eric strained his eyes. Was that a darker spot of black? Yes, if he stepped a couple paces to the left, the dark spot gained a little depth. If he kept moving, walking around a scattering of driftwood, clambering over a tumble of broken rocks, it resolved itself into the mouth of a cave. Far wider and taller than a man, Eric wondered how he had ever missed the entrance._

_As he stepped inside, he heard a sudden rumble and crackle, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing straight up. A glance back confirmed that a curtain of water now separated him from the dry cocoon of the cave and drowning in the open air, two feet planted firmly on the ground._

_Luckily, the cave floor ascended somewhat, and Eric silently thanked the gentle gradient that might keep the waters from seeping in and soaking him. It was odd that he could still see, as he had no torch or matches with him and the rain blotted out any hint of sun. Yet a gentle golden glow seemed to suffuse the air around him, and as he drew closer and closer to the curving stone at the back, the glow grew until the smooth stone walls seemed to drip in liquid metal. Bronze and gold, copper and brass, the flicker and shimmer of a man-made room._

_Just as he gained the back of the cave, Eric spotted something in a hollow, a small disc from which the light seemed to flow. For all its brightness, it didn't hurt his eyes as he bent down to examine it, picking it up between two fingers and rolling it back and forth._

_A coin._

_Eric chuckled and closed it in his hand, the gesture snuffing out all light. Opening his hand again, he let it rest in his palm, holding it up like a flame to find his way. There was a small outcropping close by, smooth and flat, and he made himself comfortable, settling and stretching out on it, laughing softly all the while. A natural fainting couch, curved for comfort, safe far away from the rain that had so recently threatened, and just like this cave, all his own._

_The coin was warm, but not uncomfortable, and Eric amused himself by tossing it in the air, watching the shadows slip away as it tumbled over and over itself, illuminating every nook and cranny. It would drop satisfyingly back in his palm, and for a brief moment, he would curl his fingers around it, giving the darkness the smallest of moments to breathe._

_Yet as he gripped it in his hand, the hundredth toss in the air, the hundredth press of black against his eyes, the metal light did not dissipate. He gripped the coin tighter, but the glow continued to grow, this time from above him. Had the cave split open? Was he about to be drenched and drowned, his refuge now rubbish?_

_The first one landed gently, a brush of something against his hair._

_The next was a handful, pattering down around his feet._

_Coins?_

_They bounced and rolled, glancing off his body at every angle, filling his lap and pooling around his ankles. Handful after handful after bank vault full of coins, each one like the round press of a finger, the pad of a thumb. What darkness was left was rapidly retreating, and distantly, Eric wondered if he should take one last, long breath--_

Eric groaned. 12:08. He threw an arm over his eyes and tried to blot out any memory of light. Any kind of light at all.

***

The yawn travelled up his body, starting all the way down in his toes. It rolled over him in one long wave, curving his body forward, caving him in and hollowing him out, leaving him powerless against its master, exhaustion. At this rate, he was going to become a zombie, lurching from task to task, ever hungry, ever searching for sleep.

There were things he should really be doing. He could _hear_ the daffodils wilting, and there was some potted ivy in the back corner he really should mist. But the counter was doing such an excellent job of propping him up and keeping him on his feet that he was loathe to deprive it of the honour. Besides, the granite countertop was very interesting, all the little swirls and flecks of gold flowing like liquid amongst the darker stone, and there was nothing wrong with letting himself nod a little, staring at the rivers hidden beneath his fingertips as it got closer and closer and close--

Eric jerked upright as the bell above the door tinkled pleasantly, saving him from giving himself an untimely nosebleed. Fixing a smile on his face, he aimed for "alert and aware," and was fairly certain he landed smack-dab in the middle of "dim and dopey."

"Hi, can I help--" The words died in his throat as his eyes swam into focus. Standing before him was a golden god, if gods came in slightly tousled tweed. Instinctively, Eric glanced at the wall clock. 12:08, to the second. And here he was, in Eric's shop. Standing right before him. Right before Eric...

The man cleared his throat.

Eric blinked and offered up an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted this morning– _afternoon_. It's afternoon now, isn't it?"

God, he had the best smile. The corners of the man's eyes crinkled up as he grinned, drawing attention to cool blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a clear, cloudless day. "This might sound a bit strange, but I was wondering if you had any crocus bulbs?"

Silently, Eric cursed. Of course the moment the man of his dreams walked directly into his shop, he would want something Eric didn't have. "I don't generally carry bulbs and seeds, not for direct sale, although I sometimes have potted ones in stock. There isn't much call for crocuses this time of year, though," he shrugged in what he hoped was a suitably apologetic gesture, "They'd come directly from a hothouse, since they're out of season, and that means higher prices across the board." Surely, this man didn't care about the whys and wherefores of stocking an independent florist, but tiredness had made Eric's tongue loose and unruly. It was all he could do to stop himself from laying out the comparative lesser risk of out of season forced cuttings, the shop's budget, and his own personal ordering schedule.

Dear god, he really was tired.

Seemingly satisfied, the man lingered, turning away from Eric to wander around the shop, lightly fingering leaves and sniffing at petals. It was a struggle not to stand and stare, and it didn't take long before Eric gave up resisting. It wasn't like he'd have a chance to ogle the man's arse up close again anytime soon.

He frowned a little as the doorbell rang once again, a couple interrupting his reverie -- and his view -- as they asked for a bouquet of the most romantically unoriginal flowers in the world's repertoire. Not that he could complain, not that much, as roses went for a pretty penny, and it wasn't as if they weren't beautiful flowers. Wars had been fought over hybrid teas, after all. 

They left as quickly as they came, bustling out, beaming over a dozen of his finest Red Naomi, wrapped up in his best paper and ribbon, a burst of scent and colour to compliment the spark in her eyes, the fondness in his touch. Eric smiled after them, charmed in spite of himself.

As silence settled back in, Eric became aware that the man he had been so happily watching had stopped his wanderings and was now watching Eric in turn. There was something awkward about his posture, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do next, or as if he'd been caught out in the middle of some embarrassing gesture.

"So..." the man began.

Eric tipped his head to the side. "So."

The silence thickened ever so slightly as Eric watched the man watch him back.

"I just-- You know, I pass your store every day, and I see you working away amongst all this _green_ , and I keep thinking I should come in, and today-- Today seemed like the right day." He stuck out a hand as he closed the distance between them. 

His fingers curled around Eric's own, palm pressing against palm, warm and solid. "I'm Viggo."

Eric smiled. Perhaps he didn't need to set up a sandwich shop after all.

***

_Eric wasn't sure if he had wings. Logically, it made sense, because how else would he be able to soar so far above the ground, to dive and climb and dive again. Yet try as he might, _twist_ as he might, he couldn't see behind himself to _see_. Still, there was no sense in letting logic get in the way of how he felt, the absolute euphoria in the way the wind rushed past him, a thousand invisible hands stroking his skin, raising goosebumps as every exposed inch was tickled and teased into alertness._

_He knew he was nude, knew it in a far more solid way than the question of wings, but it felt just as fitting, just as right. He had no need for clothes above the clouds, not when he could clothe himself in the blue, blue sky. Perhaps in another life he had been an eagle, racing the wind, clipping the breeze, as predatory as he was perfect. There would not be another airborne creature as glorious as he, not one as dangerous nor as deadly, not since the rise and fall of the Stymphalians._

_The sky was an endless playground, and Eric rose up, up, up, leaving the ground far behind, reaching for whatever lay beyond the blue. He would burst out beyond it, he knew, breaking through it as easily as through tissue paper, and the whole world, the meaning of everything, would crack open for him as an egg under his fingertips._

_He rose. He rose and rose, and there was nothing left below, no speck, no mote of brown or green to mark where he'd been, where he'd come from. And yet... And yet, there was something in the corner of his eye, some flicker, some flick of something that grew bigger even as he willed himself higher._

_There it was again. Bigger this time, big enough to see _its_ wings. It had a curving neck, exaggeratedly long, and it was white, so white, white enough to make the blue sky around it pale into green._

_Distracted from his flight, Eric turned to it, fascinated as it drew closer, resolving into a swan the likes of which he had never seen. The size of a man, maybe larger. And heading directly towards him._

_Sense told him he should flee, spiral down towards the ground, letting gravity grip him and drag him deep into the earth, trap him in a cave of his own making, of his own choice to leave the sky behind. But as much as he knew it, he couldn't give up his choice, wouldn't give up that chance to completely slough off the life he'd left behind._

_The swan was closer now, close enough to touch, close enough that a strike from its beak would surely kill Eric stone-dead. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end._

_But instead of a snap of that powerful neck, Eric felt a brush of feathers, of down and fluff, a stroke of beak and wing. Already crackling with energy, Eric's skin felt electrified, a tingling sensation that ran through him from tip to tail. His nose filled with the scent of ozone, as if the sky had embraced him, calling him home._

_Reaching out, he buried his fingers in feathers, held on as the warmth of the swan became his own warmth, let its wings draw him closer, its body moving against his own._

_And when he opened his eyes, all he could see was white, just white, and he knew then that--_

No.

Eric frowned as he yanked the blankets up higher. He didn't bother looking at the clock.

He knew what time it was.

***

It was as if the skies had opened up and were determined to pour out months worth of rain. Nearly noon, not a customer all morning, and Eric couldn't see out his windows to see anyone coming anyway. The rain streaked down the glass, a wide, vertical river that none but the hardiest of people would try to cross.

He depended so much on foot traffic that today was shaping up to be a disastrous day. Even worse, it would be a boring one. He'd cleaned and cleared, priced and arranged, and now he was stumped for things to do. He toyed idly with texting Brad, just to pass the time, just to keep him awake, letting the promise of charm override sense. He could live through a little gentle ribbing, couldn't he? It wasn't like it meant anything, and there was no harm in that, not at all.

He picked up his phone, pulling up Brad's number automatically, when the bell above the door began to chime. Eric looked up, surprised that anyone at all would be out in this weather, half-expecting a drowned rat to have sailed in on a wooden plank, a twig for an oar.

"Hello," said Viggo, hair and clothes dripping on the floor, more damp than dry patches on his clothes. He beamed at Eric from beneath the raindrops, the steady drip-drip-drip from head to toe giving the impression that he had brought along his own personal rain cloud.

"Hi?" Eric's eyes widened as a puddle slowly spread across his floor. "What the hell are you doing out on a day like this?"

Viggo grinned. "Well, yesterday went so well, I thought-- I thought, maybe, we could get to know each other better." He held up a paper sack. "I thought you might like to share a picnic lunch?"

Eric couldn't help himself. The laughter bubbled up from his lungs like a burbling stream. "In this weather? Outside? We'd drown."

Viggo shrugged. "The park has hills. And I have an umbrella to share." He waved a curving stick, the canvas curling around it askew, the whole damp, battered and broken. His grin turned lopsided. "I like to watch the swans on my lunch hour."

Eric shook his head, Viggo's easy smile infectious enough that he could feel it tugging on the corners of his mouth. "Hills, you say? I guess we could give it a try." It was the work of a minute to slip into the back, grab his raincoat and find an umbrella that was far less battered than Viggo's own. Returning to the front, he found Viggo eagerly waiting by the door, surprisingly ready to plunge back out into the torrential downpour.

"You know what I do," Eric waved vaguely at his shop, "But I have no idea about you. What kind of man looks for out of season crocuses, lunches with swans, and walks by my shop at exactly eight minutes after noon every day of the week without fail?" He flipped the sign on his door from _Open_ to _Closed_ , and fished his keys out of his pocket.

"Me? Oh. You know what they say. 'Those who can, do. Those who can't--'"

Eric frowned, reaching out to touch the corner of Viggo's mouth, stopping his words before he could manage any more. " _No_. No, I don't believe that at all."

Viggo was rather attractive when he was flustered. He wet his lips. "Oh. Um. I'm a professor." He nodded to the left. "At the college up the street."

Eric ushered Viggo out the door, grinning as he watched Viggo deploy his broken umbrella against the Deucalion flood. "What do you teach?" He could hardly hear the tumblers click into place as he turned his key, the rain doing its best to drown out any other sound. 

"What?" There were those charming crinkles again, as Viggo squinted at Eric, as if listening harder involved seeing more. "Classics. I teach the Classics. The usual, you know... Mostly Greek Myth."

"Is that so?" Eric smiled, ducking under Viggo's umbrella for a little shelter while he opened his own. "Isn't that funny? That's one of those topics I've always dreamed of learning about a little more."


End file.
